


timey wimey

by jupiterjazzpartii



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Humor, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, as a treat, aziraphale can be little a slut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterjazzpartii/pseuds/jupiterjazzpartii
Summary: Aziraphale makes a new friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/The Doctor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	1. 1919

**Author's Note:**

> i'm posting this right before i go to work so i don't have to answer for anything.

The war had been rough.

Aziraphale spent most of it working in the trenches. Not out of any Heavenly obligation or duty, as Heaven didn’t seem to particularly care about the humans on Earth massacring each other, but of his own accord. He worked, healing who he could without being reprimanded, and for those he couldn’t heal miraculously, he tried to soothe as best he could. Fomenting peace wherever he could reach was the least he could do, in his mind.

Now, it’s been over a scant few months and all Aziraphale wanted to do was rest. The books in the shop don’t hold interest for long, he’s been too weary for too long to sit and read at length as he did before, but leaving his sanctuary didn’t sound appealing to him either. It’s times like this, where he has a bone-deep ache in his corporation that nothing can soothe, that he wishes he were in the habit of sleeping. But he’s not. Not like Crowley.

Crowley’s been asleep for the better part of fifty years now. After their fight in 1862, where Aziraphale chose some words he almost immediately regretted out of hurt and stormed off, Crowley had disappeared. Initially, after giving himself some time to fume, Aziraphale searched the city for him and was, understandably, distressed when the demon didn’t turn up at any of their usual haunts. Forever a worrywart, Aziraphale immediately assumed the worst: something had happened, Hell had found out, they took Crowley. It was only after an indeterminate amount of time was spent drinking to mourn the loss of his… adversary, that Aziraphale remembered the location of a flat Crowley had mentioned to him off-handedly during one of their most recent conversations. He had raced there, fearing the worst and hoping for the best, to find Crowley peacefully asleep in his bed. Essentially dead to everything, as if the last fifty years hadn’t even affected this little corner of his world.

The discovery that his demon was alive, well, just asleep with no waking in sight, only eased the angel’s mind slightly. His heart still ached, the hurt from their argument fresh in his mind after all these years. The fear of what Crowley was asking of him still present, around every corner.

Thinking about the past wasn’t doing much to soothe him. Aziraphale had been sitting in the same spot, a book forgotten in his hand, for who knows how long. Trying to avoid thinking about Crowley was difficult. Here, in his beloved bookshop, _everything_ made him think of Crowley. A gift from the demon here, a story he told him there. A book Aziraphale had read to him, the sofa that Crowley lounged upon the first time he’d visited.

A strange, ominous noise from outside the shop dragged Aziraphale out of his spiral.

_Vworp. Vworp. Vworp._

He put his book aside and stood, making his way toward the bookshop’s front door. He opened the door, cautiously sticking his head out and soon his whole body followed. On the curb outside the bookshop was now a large blue box that he was certain was not there the scant hours before when Aziraphale had made his way back to the shop. At the top of the box’s side read _POLICE - PUBLIC CALL - BOX._

“Hello?” he ventured.

Without warning, the doors to the blue box flung open, revealing a twiggy man in a brown suit staring back at him with wide, brown eyes. He looked very familiar, but thinking of who the man reminded Aziraphale of only made his heart hurt more, so he resolutely put that thought aside. Otherwise, Aziraphale had a _very_ strange feeling about him.

They stood in silence for a moment until the box-man broke it with a question: “What year is it?”

Aziraphale was caught off-guard by, well, everything, but especially the question. “Er— 1919. January.”

“Ack. Not a great one, issit?” He contemplated for a moment, “The Great War?”

“Just ended,” the angel said.

A grimace. “Good. Got a few years of peace ahead but the second one is going to be much worse.”

Though it was information from a man who might certainly just be mad, this immediately concerned Aziraphale. “A second one? Good lord.”

He was knocked out of his next line of questioning about a second war by the box-man introducing himself. “Hello, by the way! I’m the Doctor. It is a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance—?” The man grinned and stuck his hand out.

“Aziraphale.” He took the offered hand gently and again felt something _off_ about the man.

As they shook hands, clearly the Doctor had a similar line of thinking as Aziraphale, and gave him an appraising look.

“You’re not human, are you, Aziraphale?”

“No. Neither are you, I presume?” He could tell the doctor wasn’t a demon, but otherwise...

“You would presume correctly!”

There was a pause as the two locked gazes and finally dropped their hands.

The Doctor winked at him.

This time, Aziraphale broke the silence, “Would you like to come inside? I could put the kettle on.”

“Sounds lovely,” the Doctor said, while he turned and locked the police box’s door behind him, “Lead the way.”

  
  
  
  


They settled in the backroom. Or rather, Aziraphale settled, sipping his tea in his favorite armchair while the Doctor flitted around examining every knick-knack and ancient tome in the room. He had offered the Doctor tea, who had initially gratefully accepted it, only to immediately place it down on the nearest surface in favor of exploring Aziraphale’s domain.

“So, Doctor,” Aziraphale started, finally drawing the Doctor’s attention from a first edition, “If you’re not a human, and you’re not a demon… what exactly are you?”

At this, the Doctor finally sat down.

“Oh! Me. I’m a Time Lord, y’see. We’re er— aliens, I suppose. Can travel time and space, all that. Was doing a bit of it before I landed here. Seems I may have, uh, made some miscalculations and popped into another universe, though. Now, demons are real, here? Like ye olde fire and brimstone, steal your soul, demons? That’s not what you are, right? Can’t be. You’re too… sweet. Although, you are also very tempting. I’d sell my soul to you, if that’s on the table.” He winked with the last sentence, making the angel blush.

Aziraphale stammered out, “No! No, I’m, ah. I’m an angel.” He was _well aware_ that his cheeks were rapidly warming, but unfortunately his corporation wasn’t willing to work with him on this matter.

“An angel?! A real angel? Like with wings and a halo and all that?” The Doctor leaned forward in his seat, toward Aziraphale, with a large grin plastered across his face, all previous flirtations forgotten in this moment in favor of genuine curiosity.

“Well, my original form is a bit more complicated than that, but yes, wings and a halo and _all that_.” The angel smiled good-naturedly back at him.

“Can I see?”

“See?”

“Your wings. I’m very curious.”

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, then eventually gave in. “I… don’t see why not.”

His wings weren’t anything special by ethereal (or occult, really) standards. They were a bit mussed from lack of grooming and time spent on a different plane of existence than their owner. But this didn’t deter the Doctor from marveling at them. He ooh’d and ahh’d, hands hovering inches above one wing before looking at Aziraphale for permission. Aziraphale nodded quickly before turning his head away in an attempt to hide the deepening flush in his cheeks.

Showing one your wings had become somewhat of an intimate ritual in Heaven during the past millennia. Allowing one to touch your wings, well. _That_. That was bordering on indecent. And yet here Aziraphale was, letting this strange man essentially fondle his feathers. It was… a bizarre experience to him, to say the least. He’d only pictured sharing his wings with one other being in existence.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by the man’s continued wonderment at the white appendages.

“Fantastic! So much difference from the angels of my universe. Who are, mind you, mostly just made of stone. And are very rude!”

Aziraphale made a very valiant attempt to gather his thoughts while the Doctor ran his fingers through his primaries.

“Do— Do you fancy something to drink? I’ve got a large storage of wine.”

Aziraphale returned soon enough with a bottle of wine and two glasses, though after he had filled them and handed one to the Doctor, he did not return to his post in the armchair. Instead, he sat next to the almost-stranger on the sofa, a few scant inches away from him. Tantalizingly close, really. Their thighs almost brushed.

The Doctor leered toward him. “Did it hurt?”

“Did it hurt?—” A bemused pause. A giggle as he realized where the other was taking this. “Please do not use angelic pick-up lines on me.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Thought it was worth a try.” 

“Believe me, dear, you are already interesting enough. No need for all that at this point.”

They drank companionably, passing the time by talking about various odds and ends from their respective universes.

“How old are you, Doctor?”

“Ohh, around nine hundred and something. You?”

“Nearly six thousand.”

The Doctor barked out a laugh, which coaxed a grin out of Aziraphale in turn, “Blimey. Not often I get to meet someone older than me. Immortality, right?” He shifted to raise his glass towards the angel, knee now flush against his thigh. Neither pointed out the point of contact. But they did each privately note it.

“Right-o.” The angel punctuated this with a sip from his glass. “It’s fascinating. Humanity, and all they accomplish. Living through their history is a blessing unto itself sometimes.”

“I have to agree. Every trip ‘round time is interesting, thanks to them. Love watching what they achieve. I have to ask though,” His tone turned _much_ more salacious, “What’s a pretty angel like you doing on an Earth like this?”

Aziraphale snorted at the cheesy line. He was beginning to see a pattern to this conversation and found that he didn’t mind at all. Being the object of a strange alien man’s affections was becoming more alluring by the minute. “My job.”

The Doctor leaned further in, almost encroaching on Aziraphale’s personal space. He found that he didn’t mind.

“And what job is that?”

  
  


“Protecting humanity, my dear.”

“From what?”

“Themselves, mostly. On paper, from the powers of Hell. Although, there’s not much of that on Earth, besides Crowley.”

The Doctor waved his hand in what could be interpreted as a very loose _go on_ gesture.

“Crowley is my— he’s my friend. Though don’t tell anyone I’ve told you that, could get in big trouble. He’s a demon, you see.”

The Doctor took a long sip from his glass. “Ah, forbidden friendship between the beings.”

“Something like that. Y’know—,” Aziraphale paused, “I love God. And being an angel! But… sometimes I wish that things were different. For us. There’s so much I can never say to him, for fear of the two of us being found out. If something were to happen to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

The Doctor looked solemn for a moment. “Yeah— Yeah I get that. I had a human I traveled with. Brilliant as anything. Cared about her more than I can say. But,” His smile was tinged with sadness, “Things happened.”

They drank in silence for a moment, reflecting on the somber mood.

“Crowley’s very lucky to have you, I think.”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was hard to read.

“You know,” the Doctor began brightly, “That big ole block out there, that’s my spaceship. Call her the TARDIS.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “TARDIS? What sort of a name is that?”

“Hey, just because you’ve got a lovely name doesn’t mean you can make fun of my ship. Rude angel. TARDIS stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. She’s capable of inter-space and time travel. Hard to explain but it works!” As an afterthought, he muttered, “Sometimes.”

Aziraphale was simply fascinated.

“Would you like to see it? It’s bigger on the inside, I promise.”

“Absolutely, dear boy.”

The Doctor led them back outside, chattering the whole while about his ship and what makes her tick. Aziraphale listened with rapt attention, at least until they actually came upon the thing and he was led inside.

The Doctor wasn’t lying when he said it was bigger on the inside. From the outside, the blue box seemed fit to hold only one person, maybe two, but after stepping through the door that simply didn’t hold true. The interior was huge, filled with strange architectural supports (at least, that’s what Aziraphale assumed they were) with walls lined with lights. In the center, a large console lay on a series of segmented raised platforms. Aziraphale thought it amazing and said as much to his companion, who did his best to at least seem subtle about preening under his ship’s attention.

“It’s marvelous, truly! It all just seems impossible.”

“Ah well, anything is possible.”

The time-traveler moved to stand in front of the console, explaining the intricacies of the machinery passionately. Aziraphale was content to stand near, to watch and listen to him, even if he didn’t _quite_ understand some of the mechanics at play here it was fascinating to admire the way the TARDIS’s interior lights, a soft turquoise, shone on and lit the Doctor’s face. His profile was truly wondrous in this lighting, the soft blue illuminating his face, making those brown eyes and speckled freckles even more vibrant. The Doctor turned back toward him, leaned in to whisper conspiratorially about a particularly saucy character of history. Aziraphale matched him, leaning close where they were almost sharing a breath. This move seemed to surprise the Doctor, as he was startled slightly out of his train of thought, stammering for a minute while his gaze very obviously dropped to Aziraphale’s mouth. This was enough for Aziraphale to act.

Aziraphale closed the distance between them. At first, the kiss was a gentle brush of lips, almost chaste really, before the Doctor opened his mouth slightly, tilting his head for a better angle and pressed harder against the angel. 

Soon enough, they both pulled back, seemingly weighing the fact that they were both very clearly emotionally compromised, but also very clearly a little lonely.

“Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Maybe you can show me some _divine ecstasy_ , right?”

Aziraphale groaned and pushed him back against the console with a smile.

  
  
  


The Doctor pressed into him and he pushed back, the pressure warm between them. Hands grasped hands, clothes, hair.

“Would it be strange,” the Doctor panted, “if I asked for you to keep the wings out during this?”

Aziraphale did not grace this request with a verbal response so much as he smirked and allowed his wings to materialize once more on this plane.

  
  
  
  


It’d been a while since Aziraphale had Been With anyone. Certainly never with another immortal being, as much as he might wish otherwise. But it was a nice release.

Afterward, the Doctor moved to clean them, but Aziraphale simply snapped and they returned to a previous state. No rumpled clothing, no mussed hair. This impressed the Doctor clearly, who then seemed to have found a fascination with snapping as he led them back out of the TARDIS.

They stopped on the stoop of the bookshop.

“I probably should go. Long-term inter-universe travel isn’t recommended. Fabric of time and space and all that.”

Aziraphale chuckled dryly, “I think I understand.”

The Doctor hovered in front of him for a moment with a contemplative look on his face. “You could come with me, if you wanted. Take a quick trip through time. Wherever you’d like to go. Could be fun.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. He wished that the first objection in his head had been _oh no, sorry, I’m a guardian here on Earth, got lots to do_ instead of _but I can’t leave Crowley_. “I… I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ve got business here. I couldn’t leave him.”

The alien offered him a smile and repeated his words back to him, “I think I understand. Well, Aziraphale, it’s been truly fantastic. You’re a truly fascinating dinner date.”

“Goodbye, dear boy. If you ever drop into this universe again, come and find me.”

“Will do!” The Doctor laughed and headed back into his blue box, alone this time. He offered up one last little wave before the door closed, which Aziraphale returned.

Aziraphale watched the Doctor step back into the TARDIS from the bookshop’s doorstep. After a short moment, the ominous noise of the ship began again, before the entire box simply disappeared from view.

What a night. Perhaps he would update Crowley, whenever he woke up. Or perhaps, it’d be better to keep this tryst to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is wrong with me


	2. 2019

Armageddon had been… well. Rough. It’d passed as well as one could hope, though. Here sat an angel and a demon, five days out from avoiding death at their trials and destruction at the airbase, and things seemingly remained unchanged.

Unchanged meaning not bad–Crowley hadn’t run away once they were in the clear, and seemed more than happy to just spend time with the angel–but it wasn’t exactly where Aziraphale had wanted them to be, relationship-wise. And, if the past six thousand years were any marker, he suspected Crowley felt the same. They went on lunch dates, dinner dates, walks in the park, spent long nights drinking and philosophizing, essentially to the point where they were living out of each other’s pocket. Yet any time Aziraphale _made a move_ (a pointed glance here, a lingering touch on the arm there, covering his demon’s hand with his own, maneuvering the other with a gentle hand on his lower back, the list goes on) Crowley shied away immediately. Sure, he blushed and stammered when it happened, which was an adorable reward enough on its own, but he never reciprocated or even seemed to _realize_ that the angel was doing this purposefully. All that really resulted from these excursions into physical affection was an odd tension hooked around them afterwards. This tension only got thicker every time Aziraphale had suggested a romantic outing, or even referenced the idea of a ‘date’. Maybe he _was_ misreading things.

It was really putting Aziraphale in a spot of bother, and if this kept up he might actually have to try to _communicate_ with _words_ soon, which almost never worked out well for him.

Which is how he’d ended up here, wistfully watching the demon lounge on the ancient bookshop sofa, his glasses discarded and his cellphone buzzing loudly in his hands, while he himself pretended to read. Crowley had a most fascinating relationship with chairs, or really any object one could sit on, demonstrating that here, lying down with his legs seemingly entangled with each other while hitched over the back of the couch, his phone held a scant few inches above his face. Aziraphale studied him extensively, the book in his hands completely just there for show as he focused on Crowley’s expression: his eyes were just a bit cross, his jaw slightly slack, his tongue poking out just a bit as he focused on the screen. He had an intense desire to kiss the demon, but as his thoughts circled back to how he reacted to even the most subtle of touches, he was afraid that the poor creature might explode. Or discorporate.

In an ironic repeat of what had happened a century prior, a strange noise coming from inside the bookshop drew him out of his Crowley-related thoughts once more.

Aziraphale recognized that noise. The same ominous noise that preceded a very strange man’s entrance into his life on a very strange night. He stood up quickly, just a split second before Crowley, who looked rather less enthused and more furious over what he perceived as a threat from either of their respective previous sides. Together, they made their way to the front of the shop, where in the large circular skylight opening in the floorspace sat a very large, very familiar blue box.

Out from the door stepped a very familiar twiggy man. This time, he appeared in a sleek blue suit, but his overall look hadn’t changed one bit. Still looked quite the bit of a madman, still hair sticking up every which way. As the Doctor stepped further into the bookshop, Crowley instinctively stepped between him and Aziraphale. The Doctor simply leaned around to wave to the angel.

“Aziraphale! You’re looking _good._ ” 

“Hello again, Doctor! My, how long it’s been!”

Crowley interrupted here, glancing between the two beings, “Doctor? What’s all this about?”

“That’s me!”

“Right,” Crowley started, eyes narrowed, “You know each other, then?”

“In a way! Or _a few ways_.” The Doctor punctuated this frankly embarrassing comment with a waggle of his eyebrows. Crowley did not miss how quickly Aziraphale’s face heated up. “Gosh, what year was it when I dropped by here before?”

Ignorant of how Crowley was fuming over ‘ _a few ways’_ , Aziraphale chugged on, “Oh, 1919! The first World War had ended and you’d shown up right outside my shop. It’s 2019 now, for reference.”

“Right! Had a lovely time here. Can’t believe it’s been a century, the place looks nearly the same!” He started wandering the shop as he spoke, reaching out and prodding at all manner of things lying on shelves. “How are you doing, lately?”

“Wonderfully, my dear. And you?”

Crowley took this moment to reign in his emotions and interject, “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Aziraphale seemed as if he just remembered Crowley was there for the first time since the Doctor had stepped back into the bookshop. “How rude of me! Crowley, this is the Doctor. Doctor, this is Crowley.”

“Pleasure to meet you at last, Crowley! I’ve heard _a lot_ about you.”

Confused by his semi-flirtatious tone and Aziraphale’s bashful look, Crowley muttered back, “Hadn’t heard much about you, mate.”

The Doctor and Aziraphale ignored him, opting instead to move closer and catch up on anything and everything notable that had happened since their last meeting. Crowley, still a mite confused, slouched back against a pillar and observed their very animated conversation. Privately, he wished he had thought to grab his glasses when bounding out of the backroom, as it was getting incredibly difficult to mask his eye twitching every time the Doctor grasped Aziraphale’s hands or touched his arm while they spoke.

Crowley had, initially, zoned out to focus on just how much the Doctor kept _touching_ his angel. He was, however, brought right back into it when the Doctor mentioned off-hand that he had kept a feather from Aziraphale.

When had that even happened?

A feather, he repeated to himself, he gave him a feather. What did _that_ mean? Did it mean anything? The two of _them_ had never exchanged feathers. Not that he was jealous.

Seemingly unaware of Crowley stewing in the background, the angel, in turn, blushed something awful and changed the topic almost immediately.

_(One of his feathers?!)_

Eventually, after much of the afternoon was spent with Crowley third-wheeling the other two’s conversations, the Doctor explained with a loose handwave that he really must be getting back soon, it’s never good to stay in another dimension too long you see, but he had the opportunity to make a visit and had to take it.

Crowley grumbled a monosyllabic response while Aziraphale actually saw him off. “I suppose I’ll see you in another hundred years or so?”

With a wink and a shout of _“Sounds like a date!”_ the Doctor disappeared back into his box and Crowley slunk away into the back room, slipping his shades back on in the process.

Aziraphale followed shortly, “What a nice fellow, so lovely to see him again!”

“Mm,” was the only response.

Aziraphale studied him for a moment, well-versed enough in his friend’s body language to know that Crowley was obviously upset about something, but didn’t want to talk about it.

Very well. He’d just sit and (pretend to) read again until Crowley was ready to speak.

Which occurred roughly a half hour later when Crowley finally broke, giving in to whatever was upsetting him, and threw his hands into the air, “Alright. I’ll bite. Who was that guy? He said he knew you ‘a few ways’. What the hell is the implication there? Why would he have a feather of yours?”

“Oh. Er. He’s an old friend, I suppose,” Aziraphale didn’t meet his eye. “We spent a night together.”

“You _what?!_ ”

“It was a hundred years ago! I was lonely!”

“So you– you what– I, I didn’t even know you were _interested_ in sex!”

“Well, judging by how you don’t seem to get _any_ of my hints you don’t seem to know a lot of things I’m _interested_ in! Frankly, I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose in an attempt to steady himself, “You were asleep and I was lonely. The Doctor helped me forget, if only temporarily, how much I missed you.”

“Oh and what does _that_ mean– wait–you missed me?”

“Yes I missed you, you daft demon! We had a terrible fight after which you disappeared and I didn’t even find out you were just _sleeping_ until 1900! Do you know how worried I was? I thought something terrible had happened and that day in the park would have been the last time I’d ever see you. It broke my heart. And even when I found out that you were okay, just sleeping, I still worried. I spent those years fretting constantly over you. And then the first war happened and it was a new sort of terrible, and I didn’t even have you there to bear it with. So yes, I took a night with that gentleman to distract me from it all and I’m sorry that it’s made you so angry for whatever reason!”

His outburst had effectively silenced Crowley for time being. The demon looked back at him from behind those infernal shades, struggling to find his words. He sighed.

“I– just. Fuck.” Crowley paused. He let out a deep breath and rubbed his nose as he continued, quieter this time, “I just wish it could’ve been me.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I wish it could have been me. To hold you. To touch you.” 

“Crowley…”

“No, y’know what, angel, you’re right. It’s not my business. I’ve, er, got some. Plants. To go water. I’ll see you later–”

His attempt at an exit was quickly dashed by Aziraphale, who had crossed the room incredibly quickly and reached out to grasp his wrist with the strength of an angel designed as a warrior. He glanced down at where the angel’s hand wrapped around his wrist easily and slowly sank back down onto the sofa.

“All this because you’re jealous? Really, Crowley?” His tone was mostly bemused, with a bit of fond sternness slipping in.

“Yes! Fuck it all, I’m jealous! Bless everything, Aziraphale, I have literally _dreamed_ of doing– that. With you.” He turned his face away as he muttered the last bit, resolutely determined to not look Aziraphale in the face.

“Crowley, listen to me. You have nothing to be jealous _of._ The Doctor is a nice man, but what I feel for him, which at this point is nothing more than friendship I assure you, is nothing compared to what I feel for _you_.”

It seemed now that it was Crowley’s turn to be blind-sided. “What– What you feel? For me?”

“I have had… feelings for you, for quite a while, dear, possibly longer than even I realize. I _want_ to do those things with you, too, you imbecile. And everything else. I want to kiss you and make love and go on our dinner dates. I suppose what I’m saying is… I wanted it to be you, too.”

“You want to kiss me.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to work up to it but you’ve been shying away.”

Crowley gaped, then swore. “Fuck!” He smacked his forehead, “I didn’t know that’s what you were doing! I thought you had just got a lot more touchy-feely after the near-end of the world and avoiding our deaths!”

“Only to you.”

“Christ.”

“No need to bring him into it, dear boy.”

Crowley snorted. When he glanced back up, Aziraphale was smiling at him. He tentatively smiled back.

“Can we try again? Maybe don’t even have to work up to it this time.”

“My dearest,” Aziraphale leaned in, “I'd love nothing more.”

And if this kiss felt brand new and magical, like every silly human romance novel and film rolled into one, and if Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek lovingly, and if Crowley maybe (definitely) whimpered into Aziraphale’s mouth, and if kissing Crowley felt like coming home, well. Maybe then it was worth all the silliness.

When they broke apart, Crowley said simply, “I love you, you know.”

Aziraphale beamed in response. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not valid for writing this, i don't think


End file.
